She's joking—sort of—but maybe there's a kernel of truth to the accusation because instead of quipping back, the exec gets slightly defensive. "No, we did, we did, um . . ." He names a Chris Rock film his company distributed, in which there is no interracial relationship.

"Why, then, didn't you do me?" Delpy asks.

I realize she's doing something kind of incredible, in playfully nudging this mundane kiss-kiss Hollywood run-in into the realm of interrogation. The exec is smiling tightly, trying to keep the encounter light, clearly frustrated she's pressing the issue. It's almost turning into an echo of Marion's conflict with the critic in Delpy's movie: Confronted with an opportunity to help herself via schmoozing, Delpy can't resist a potentially damaging confrontation.

"I don't know, I didn't see, because you didn't . . . when did you show it? In Sundance? I wasn't there," the executive says.

"In Sundance," Delpy confirms. "It was the day Bingham Ray died, so basically no one showed up. And Magnolia was so happy they bought the film right away. But I'm happy it's Magnolia, actually. I'm very happy. We'll see. Inshallah, like they say in Algeria."

The exec repairs to his table, and Delpy turns back to her vegetarian couscous. "Inshallah, like they say in all those countries that hate Jews."